Smelling the Flowers
by ReconstructWriter
Summary: Girard/Soon. Paladins don't have good will saves. Sorcerers do—when they want to. Or, the sex pollen story.


**A/N:** I've gotten addicted to the Order of the Stick, so I decided to unload some of my word-vomit about this series and feed a starving fandom.

**Smelling the Flowers**

The last remnants of the dirt trail vanished beneath invading forest. Party Leader Paladin halted, forcing everyone else to stop or run into him. Girard gave the surrounding plant-life an exaggerated once-over, "Don't see any gaping holes in reality." He closed one eye and cocked his head to the side, "Not even a sliver."

Soon Kim's expression didn't budge. Someone hadn't been warned by their mother that their face would freeze that way. "Split up. Search the area."

"You don't split the party," Girard warned. "That leads to us mysteriously disappearing."

"But we know what the danger is and what to look fo-or," Dorukan stumbled as Lirian grabbed him.

"Dibs on Dorukan," Nature hippie lead him by the arm straight toward the looming wilderness.

Girard rolled his eyes, "Oi lovebirds, keep one eye open for any eldritchly portals. No slacking off just to snog." Dorukan flushed bright red and ducked his head. Lirian gave him a one-fingered parting gesture before vanishing into the forest.

Which left him with either Kraagor, Serini or Soon. What a choice. He turned to Kraagor and found Serini staring at him with literal hearts in her eyes. "Um…"

Of all people Soon came to the rescue, "Pair melee with ranged fighters."

"**Wise suggestion**," Kraagor gave Girard a suspicious look. Would the man not get over the rubber ax incident? "**Serini, you never did tell me how you switched Girard and Soon's swords.**" And the barbarian and the rogue headed off north, Serini's excited chatter and gestures ensuring every monster within half a mile knew they were there. Kraagor had his sharpened ax well-gripped in anticipation.

Soon and Girard stared at each other. "This won't end well," Girard prophesized.

"Noted." Soon marched to the west, forcing Girard to either keep up or go on his own. The illusionist was tempted to let Soon leave on his own. For a moment. But meat shields came in handy occasionally. He followed Soon away from the forest.

Nothing jumped out of the tall grass to eat their faces, so Girard grew bored of twiddling his swords and took up his other favored hobby. "So, did your mother ever warn you your face will freeze like that? Because it will if you don't stop making that face." No expression. "Oh no, it's already happened, hasn't it?" No expression. "I mourn your torturous expressionless existence." Girard bowed his head reverently. "But not enough to pray to your barnyard gods."

Soon's face didn't twitch. Not even as grass turned to wildflowers. Girard wasn't a druid, but even he had to stop and stare at a field awash with every color of the rainbow, spreading in waves as far as the eye could see. "Woah," he whispered in appreciation. The paladin hadn't paused, so Girard had to dash to keep up. "Geeze, beautiful field of wildflowers and you look like you're marching through a swamp. Heh, Lirian would probably like these," he started plucking a colorful bouquet. Not that he was into nature hippie but it would twist that arrogant wizard's knickers something awful.

* * *

Per Murphy's law, they were in the middle of the wide-open field when the affects began to hit. Soon raised a hand to his head and frowned. He'd just had to make a will-save. How odd? He stopped marching to look around, drawing his weapon, but no monsters showed themselves. No spellcasters except his sardonic second in command. Nothing he could notice, except the midday sun's heat. Which shouldn't be bothering him because he had grown up in the constant, stifling heat of the south. This country rarely felt a proper summer's day. Yet even the worst southern marches through the stickiest humidity hadn't made his armor feel this hot. This enclosing. He fingered the buckles fastened beneath the plate joints before forcing himself to stop.

But it was hard.

"Girard." Soon's voice was thick with desperation he never thought he'd feel again. Twelve gods why was it so hot? "Are you feeling this?" He wrenched his helmet off, turning his face to the wind for some respite. In vain. Heat boiled in his blood. "Gir—" And then Girard was in his face, a smile like the devil's sin on his lips right before the kiss.

Soon froze. What the hell? Why was…? Unbothered by his lack of response, Girard slipped one hand through his hair and a leg between his own. Soon stumbled, but training took over and he softened his fall even as he cushioned his companion with his own body. Lying amid the falling petals, Girard looked like a fey—mischievous and sly as one too. "You really should stop and smell the flowers."

Soon groaned in realization. The flowers. Their pollen. What a cliché. Except, from the way his ally continued to kiss him and shed his armor—oh, the relief to get it off, no…mustn't—it was very real. He parted their lips to speak, "Get ahold of yourself. You're being controlled."

Girard threw aside the last of the armor protecting his dignity and ground down again. "Nah, this is the head I usually think with."

Gir—" his protest was cut off by lips and a tongue thrusting into his mouth. Soon could feel the pollen trying to settle spiderweb subtle on his mind. His will actively hindered by the man on top of him, who was doing his damnest to coax some reaction from Soon's numb body.

And Girard had excellent Charisma.

Soon tried to bite down, but the sorcerer slipped his tongue back out, "Aww, don't be like that," and fastened his lips on Soon's neck instead.

That was…

Soon bit his lip, both to ground his focus and stifle any noise. He'd always had a weakness for love bites and after Mijung found out, she liked to leave his throat so marked up he had to wear his full neck-guard and helmet to keep anything from showing.

"Ah, there's where you like it," and the lips descended again.

Soon couldn't focus. His sword fell to one side as he clawed at the grass and flowers beneath him. The numbness of his body felt more like a dam, like all the pent-up frustration that had built after years was clawing to get out. He tried to stifle the noises. The reactions. But he was desperate for more. Girard was saying something and he shouldn't. His mouth should be busy with something else. Soon forced their mouths together again and flipped them over, abandoning his discarded armor. Then Girard's mouth was on his neck again and the illusionist flipped them back over into a fresh patch of flowers.

Soon lost.

* * *

Girard didn't even notice something was wrong. He was a young man, adventuring with (mostly) attractive people (even Dory, if someone gagged him). It was a normal bodily reaction.

Up until Soon showed the same symptoms. That was a big floating neon sign that Girard's little problem was more than just the usual little problem. The damn flowers and their damn pollen had done what Girard, what none of the order had been able to do. Soon's immobile expression was breaking at last. There was desperation hidden in those stony gray eyes. Just needed a little coaxing out.

Girard could have made saving throws. He could have succeeded too, especially inside Soon's aura of grace or whatever. He _could _have, but his hands, and mouth were full of a not so stoic paladin trying desperately not to react and failing so epically. Finally, Soon's face was no longer frozen in a stoic frown. This made his break all the sweeter, as Soon finally succumbed to his bottled-up emotions and began kissing back. Desperate. Hungry.

Girard slipped out a vial of oil, opening it with a practiced motion he could do drunk and lo and behold, Soon did not have a stick up his ass. Well, Girard would gladly give him something else.

And that felt even better, making the normally apathetic paladin cry out and beg with every thrust. Holding him down and making him _feel_.

Girard was living out something he hadn't even fantasized about—and it was better than any fantasy. Fuck will-saves.

* * *

They both snapped out of it…after the deed was done, of course. Girard lay on him, looking like the cat who had gotten a whole flock of canaries. Soon could feel what the illusionist had done to his neck. He was going to need every scrap of armor he had just to shield his dignity. And he was, in fact, going to be walking around like he had a stick up his ass.

"Well damn," Girard purred, "Didn't know you had it in you."

Soon tried to be as intimidating as he could while stripped down to his boots and laying on his own splayed clothing. "Never. Speak. Of. This."

Girard, because he was secretly chaotic evil, bent down and lightly nipped on one of the many hickies he had littered Soon's throat with. It felt electric. His traitorous cock twitched, eager for round two. "We can keep it our little secret."


End file.
